The key clicks in the ignition, metal against metal. A deep roar, power, pinnacle, promise.
Crawl forward, this machine of yours. Turn up the volume, slowly, slowly.
A beat, incessant, hypnotic, repetitive. Driving pain from the soul, each thud of bass powering a new layer of your being. Crack that shell, the protection against the minutiae of the day, the armour against the negativity. Let the beat creep in. Turn it up still. Feel this, the human need, the primal response to rhythm.
Reach an open road and press that foot. The machine is you and you are it and the beat is you and you are the world. Open windows and revel in raindrops, earthy scent, glistening water on gunmetal, rubber driving rivulets on tarmac.
Stop and get out and breathe in, wildly. Know the air, taste it in your lungs. It carries the sea and the mountains, the clouds and the sun and the snow. It carries hope across the years, it carries alternatives, it carries fresh perspectives and possibility. Breathe deeply and begin to rise, leaving it behind, leaving them behind.
And their faint cries fall impotent as you soar, lifted by beats and rainfall, by heart and soul, by mountains and crashing, thundering waves.
And you can return and settle and drive and remember and be.